


Always the Romantic

by draco_illius_noctis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draco_illius_noctis/pseuds/draco_illius_noctis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Hawke bought his eldest son, Garrett, a lute for his 13th birthday, but Garrett never becomes good enough to use it in battle. Cut forward to years later in Kirkwall and Garrett finding a lute in Anders' clinic...and all the old memories that resurface with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the Romantic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skasha/gifts).



> This fic also includes [ amazing art ](http://haelyssamhain.tumblr.com/post/130407664378/starklockandjammydodgers) by [ haelyssamhain!](http://haelyssamhain.tumblr.com/)
> 
> First place giveaway fic for [ skasha](http://skasha.tumblr.com/) on tumblr

It was a rare thing for Garrett Hawke to have a day off, but he found himself one morning with no letters to answer, no people to see, and no matters to attend to. Unused to such a luxury, he decided to head to Darktown, hoping Anders would also be able to take the day off and they could spend some time together, alone.

That idea flew out the window as he neared the clinic, hearing the din of the patients from down the alleyway. It took him a moment to even find Anders, the healer bent in a corner over a man who appeared to have broken a leg.

“Hawke,” he murmured, giving him a small smile, “I’m a little busy today.”

“Need any help?”

Surprise flitted across Anders’ face before he nodded, pointing to a corner full of (what Garrett hoped was) clean rags and scraps of fabric.

“It’s menial labor,” Anders grinned, “but if you could wrap those up…organize them or something, it would be a big help. That’s my next stock of bandages.”

He turned back to the injured man in front of him without waiting for an answer.

Hawke grinned, shaking his head. Perhaps, he thought, if he could help Anders with the workload, they could still salvage some of the evening.

The pile was more formidable than he initially thought, and several hours had gone by before he had even made a dent. Small pieces of furniture and other objects were slowly appearing as the pile dwindled, much to the amusement of Hawke.

His hand knocked against something hollow a short time later, falling over with a muffled thud. Curious, Hawke cleared away some of the fabric, only to spot an old, scratched up lute, the curved neck just peeking out of the pile.

He felt his chest clench with bottled-up emotions as he gazed upon the instrument. He glanced around furtively, making sure no one was watching as he laid the object across his lap.

* * *

Garrett was 12 the first time he heard the bard through the tavern door.

The song was intoxicating, shutting out all other noise in the bustling town as he let the music flow through his body. He was promptly turned away when he tried to enter the foul-smelling building, but he found himself humming bits and pieces of the tune for days after.

A few weeks later, during a late morning errand for his mother, he found the bard. He was sitting on a hay bale, back resting against the wall of a nearby building as he restrung his lute. Garrett approached quietly, keeping a safe distance away but still close enough that he could hear the man sing softly as he tuned the instrument.

“What is that you’re singing?” he finally asked, stepping out of the shadows and cautiously approaching the man.

“How long have you been standing there?” the bard asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“A bit,” Garrett admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I heard you the other day. I wish I could do that.”

The bard smiled, relaxing back against the wall. He patted the hay next to him, and Garrett eagerly perched on the edge.

“You are very quiet, for a child,” he remarked casually, turning his attention back to the strings while Garrett watched. “That could come in useful later in life, with proper training.”

Garrett frowned, confused. He didn’t care about being quiet. He spent enough time doing that while the twins napped.

“Would you like to learn?”

“No thanks, I already know how to be quiet,” Garrett responded, shaking his head firmly.

“No, child,” the bard chuckled. “How to play.”

And so Garrett’s lessons began. They were sporadic, done whenever Garrett finished his chores and managed to sneak away. He did not tell his family what he was doing there and was able to go an entire year before he was discovered.

It was late afternoon, and Garrett was due to head home shortly for dinner. But time had slipped away from him, as it often did when he was practicing, and he hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.

Until he saw the shadow looming over him.

“What are you doing, son?”

Garrett jumped, feeling the fear sink in the pit of his stomach. He looked up to see his father standing with his arms crossed, eyeing the bard warily. Garrett passed the lute back to the man, standing between him and his father.

“This is my friend,” he said, somewhat defiantly. “He was teaching me how to be a bard.”

He heard the bard cough quietly behind him, and his father dismissed the man with a brief dip of his head.

“Good day, Hawke. My lord,” the bard nodded amicably, adjusting the lute on his back as he walked away.

“So,” his father said, eyes twinkling with mischief as he turned his attention back to Garrett. “You want to be a bard, eh?”

“Maybe,” Garrett muttered, staring downward as he kicked the dirt with his scuffed boot. “I really just like playing.”

“You were quite good.”

Garrett looked up sharply, face burning, fully expecting his father to be laughing at him. But Malcolm was looking at his son appraisingly, lost in thought.

“Well,” he said abruptly, “your mother is expecting us. We’ll discuss this later.” He slung one arm over Garrett’s shoulders, pulling him in for a brief hug as they made their way home.

* * *

The bard was not in the village the next day. Nor the day after. Garrett searched, but no one seemed to know where the man went. It wasn’t until a week later when he was able to catch the tavern owner’s attention that he got an answer.

“Said he was heading north,” the owner grunted. “Towards Denerim, I think.”

Garrett’s heart sank, and he trudged back home, already mourning the loss of his music. Malcolm caught him before he made it back to the house.

“Garrett?” he called. Garrett stopped and straightened his back, quickly trying to hide his mood. Malcolm came jogging over, looking at him with concern.

“What happened?”

Garrett just shook his head, emotions welling in his chest as he struggled not to get upset. He was too old to cry.

“Th-the bard is gone,” he choked out, not daring to say anything else.

“Oh, son, I’m sorry,” Malcolm murmured, gathering him in close for a hug. Garrett squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing the tears to stay where they belonged. He was 13 now, a grown boy. He needed to be strong.

“Want to help me finish feeding the horses?” Malcolm asked gently, pulling away. “It might distract you for a bit.”

Garrett nodded glumly, following his father towards the stables. He would play again, he resolved. It might take some time to earn the coin, but he held promise, and he would not let that promise go to waste.

* * *

It was a couple days later when Malcolm left early to go to town. He asked Garrett to remain at home with his mother and the twins, in the event they should need something. Garrett obliged, thinking nothing of it.

Hours later, Malcolm returned, several wrapped bundles strapped to his back. The twins ran to him, clinging to his legs with cries for sweets. Garrett and his mother remained in the doorway, smiling at Malcolm’s awkward gait.

“Bethany! Carver! Leave your poor father alone,” Leandra laughed, Garrett chuckling beside her.

Malcolm entered the house and took one of the small packages from his sack, unwrapping it to show them two large cookies. Carver grabbed his immediately, taking a large bite, while Bethany held hers gently, looking at her mother for the okay.

“Well, Carver already ruined his supper,” she sighed in exasperation, even through her smile, “you might as well ruin yours, too.” Both twins let out small cheers of victory before running to the yard to enjoy them alone.

Malcolm walked over, giving his wife a small kiss on the cheek before ruffling Garrett’s hair. Garrett noticed the two of them exchange looks, and he shifted uneasily on his feet.

Malcolm unloaded the rest of the parcels he was carrying, handing some to Leandra but keeping one large one on the table next to him.

“You’re a good boy, Garrett,” he began, gesturing for him to come closer. “And you don’t ask for much of anything. With your nameday arriving soon, your mother and I thought to get you a more…meaningful gift than normal.”

Garrett furrowed his brows, looking at his parents in confusion. Namedays usually involved small cakes, a day free from chores, and perhaps a little trinket or two if they were able to afford it.

Malcolm took the still-wrapped package and handed it to Garrett, smiling, Leandra hovering over his shoulder with the same expression.

Garrett took it, gently unwrapping it to find an old, somewhat beat up but still functional lute. His eyes grew wide, running his fingers over it as if it were crafted from the finest ironbark. He looked up at his parents in awe.

“For…me?” he asked quietly.

Malcolm nodded. “You deserve something nice, Garrett. Enjoy it.”

Garrett broke into an elated grin, flinging himself into his father’s arms. He saw his mother quickly wipe away a tear as she looked down at them, before hurling himself – more gently – at her as well. Extracting himself, he turned his attention back to the instrument, adeptly tuning the strings before strumming a few notes.

The noise drew the twins in from outside, both faces streaked with chocolate and crumbs, as they stared at Garrett in wonder.

Garrett hummed a few notes in tune with the music, before quietly beginning one of his more often played songs. Carver and Bethany sat on the floor at his feet, gazing at him with open mouths as he played. Garrett could feel the pride swell in his chest, knowing he would be able to bring his family happiness with his small talent.

His mother clapped her hands together in glee when he finished, Malcolm nodding his head and smiling in approval.

“More!” Bethany cried, echoed moments later by her brother.

Garrett grinned, looking around at the pleased faces of his family, and had never felt so proud in his life.

* * *

Garrett put the instrument back down, gently, before sneaking a glance towards Anders. The other man was still working on a patient, completely distracted and giving no indication he had even glanced in Hawke’s direction. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief he went back to work.

The instrument weighed heavily on his mind throughout the rest of the day, however. Several times he had to resist the urge to pick it back up, even just to feel the familiar weight and shape again.

“Love?”

Anders’ voice cut through his thoughts, and when Garrett looked up, he realized the room had nearly emptied and his pile of rags was sorted.

“I was hypnotized by your bandages,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“What’s wrong?” Anders asked, sitting down next to him.

“Nothing,” he sighed, pulling Anders into his arms. He kissed the top of the mage’s head, smiling at the small noise of happiness Anders let out.

“You’ve been staring at that lute all day.”

“It was under the pile of rags,” Garrett nodded, hoping he sounded casual. “I couldn’t help but stare at it.”

Anders turned around and stared at him for a long moment, searching for something in his expression. Garrett gave him his most charming smile before placing a quick kiss on his nose, pulling them both to their feet.

“Now that we have some free time,” he continued, giving Anders another small kiss. “Let’s get something to eat?”

He gave his lover no time to reply, turning and dragging them both out of the clinic and into the cool night breeze.

* * *

Anders appeared at his door a few days later, lute in hand.

“I was cleaning the clinic,” Anders began, walking into the foyer. “And I have no use for this. Do you?”

He tilted his head curiously on the last words, waiting for a reaction.

“Not really, but you can leave it here and get it out of the way,” Garrett replied with forced casualness, pouring them both a drink.

Anders smirked, placing the instrument next to the fireplace and not saying another word.

It wasn’t until after Anders left that Garrett finally turned his attention to it, picking the lute up and allowing himself to strum it softly. The screechy, off-tune notes caused him to cringe but also forced a wave of emotions through him that he thought had previously been laid to rest.

* * *

Garrett didn’t play the lute as much after his father died. His mother would hide a sob and leave the room when the familiar chords echoed through their small home. Carver’s face would turn into one of his increasingly-present scowls, stomping away or roughly telling Garrett to knock it off. Bethany’s face would drop, but she would offer Garrett a small smile, quietly encouraging him.

It got to the point that Garrett would only play when he was alone, taking some small joy from the feeble tunes he was able to produce. He knew would never be able to use the instrument as a weapon, lacking the proper training and skills. As time went on, he spent more of his energy on his knives, practicing his aim and honing his stealth rather than weaving new tunes.

“It’s pointless,” he shrugged one day, sitting with Bethany in the barn as he laid the lute aside. “I can better protect you and Mother with a weapon. I can get maybe one good hit with that thing before it breaks,” he smiled faintly, gesturing towards the instrument.

“But Garrett, you love it,” Bethany had replied softly. “Don’t let us stop you from something you love.”

“It’s not about that,” he shook his head. “Carver is away and Father is…gone. I need to be prepared.”

“You say that as if I can’t defend myself,” Bethany smiled, nudging him. They laughed, and the matter was dropped.

Which was why it was so easy, mere days later, to leave it behind as they fled their home. Carver arrived, warning them of the impending darkspawn attack, and with next to nothing on their backs they ran. The lute, the last remaining gift from his father, remained in the barn. Forgotten.

* * *

Days later, Garrett returned home, mostly drunk and without Anders for once. With everyone else in the house already asleep, he sat before the fire, Dog at his feet and the lute somehow in his hands.

After strumming a few notes, he began tuning it, making a sure-to-be-forgotten mental note to purchase new strings when he had a chance. It felt like second nature, however, his hands easily moving into the routine he hadn’t practiced in years. When he had a passable sound, he sat up properly, beginning the song that had been Bethany’s favorite.

He moved seamlessly into a favorite of his own, then to one of his mother’s, and before he knew it hours had gone by and his voice was raw. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes with a smile and before long was fast asleep.

When he awoke the next morning, the lute was still on his lap. He could hear Bodahn in the kitchen starting breakfast and wondered how long he had been asleep. He decided to bring the lute into his bedroom as he quietly made his way up the stairs to change into fresh clothes, plans of improvement lingering in his mind.

* * *

Garrett spent whatever free evenings he had over the next few weeks practicing. He purchased new strings, bought the most expensive polish and spent entirely too much time fixing the instrument until it looked (and sounded) like new. He always made sure it was carefully packed away by the time Anders arrived home from the clinic, not quite ready to share this piece of his past yet.

Not that it was hard. Anders was spending more time at the clinic than usual, a rampant virus infecting a large portion of the Darktown population. Some nights he didn’t come home at all, passing out on his small cot in exhaustion for a few hours before resuming his work.

Garrett helped when he could, but oftentimes it wasn’t much more than stopping by to make sure Anders was eating and taking care of himself along with his patients. The mage looked tired, worn, in desperate need of a hot bath and a hearty meal.

Which is when the idea came to him.

He began practicing in the evenings. Basic songs to start, ones he used to play when he was first learning from the bard, before moving on to more difficult pieces. And while he wasn’t quite as bad as when he first started, judging by the howls of pain accompanying him from Dog he still had a ways to go.

Things began to slow down for Anders a few days later. Some nights he would stumble in right as Garrett was going to bed, offering a tired smile and falling asleep almost immediately. Garrett would curl up around him, happy just to have him in his arms, but would wake to an empty bed more times than not. He would visit Anders later at the clinic, bringing him a bundle of food and urging him to at least stay for breakfast the next day. The mage would smile softly at him and promise, only to be gone before sunrise.

* * *

About three weeks after he first brought the lute to Garrett, Anders was surprised to find himself with an empty clinic well before his usual closing time. He lingered regardless, spending the extra time on smaller tasks that had been neglected for the last several days. Until Hawke showed up.

“Hello, love,” Hawke grinned, hiding one arm behind his back.

Anders smiled in return. “What are you doing here so late?”

Hawke thrust his arm forward, a bundle of elfroot in hand.

“I brought you this!” he said proudly. “And came to walk you home.”

Anders chuckled, taking the plants and placing them with the rest of his supplies.

“Always the romantic.”

Hawke shrugged. “At least I’m practical? Let’s go.”

He grabbed Anders’ hand, tugging him towards the door even though the mage resisted.

“I didn’t say I was ready yet!” he laughed, trying to break free from Hawke’s grip and failing.

“ _I_ said you were ready,” Hawke grinned. “This place is empty and you need a break. I have just the thing.”

Anders groaned but allowed himself to be led out the door, extinguishing the lantern on the way.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going to the Hanged Man,” he whined. “I don’t think I can handle everyone tonight.”

“Nope,” Hawke said, kissing him briefly on the head with no elaboration.

Arriving home, the first thing Anders noticed was the smell. He inhaled deeply, turning to look at Hawke with a curious expression.

“Is that…fish?” he asked, taking another deep sniff. “And—“

“Stew,” Hawke finished, beaming. “I made you dinner.” He led Anders to the table with a flourish.

Anders sat, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips as Hawke began bustling back and forth between the kitchen and the table, bringing bowls and dishes with him.

“I made you beef stew, with potatoes, peas and a really thick gravy that my mom used,” he began, pointing to the large, steaming bowl in front of Anders. “And I picked up some fresh bread and cheese this morning, along with your favorite wine. And this,” he said, uncovering a dish off to the side, “is lutefisk.”

He smiled and puffed out his chest before frowning slightly.

“I ah, hope it tastes okay,” he said nervously. “I never made it before, but I thought it was different? And not too hard to cook, and it’s supposed to go well with the others—“

“Garrett, it looks wonderful,” Anders cut in with an affectionate smile. “All of it. I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

“You deserve it.” Hawke smiled with relief, finally settling into his own chair and helping himself to the food. They ate in relative silence, Anders complimenting Hawke on his cooking several times, enjoying the look of pride that came across his face.

“I thought next you should have a quiet bath,” Hawke said, resting back in his chair once they finished. “I can clean up down here, you can rest your muscles, wash up a bit…” he trailed off. Anders grinned.

“Are you implying I _need_ a bath, love?” he teased.

“No!” Hawke said quickly. “I mean, well, _yes_ …but not in the way you think.”

Anders chuckled, standing. “I didn’t say I disagreed with you.”

He gave Hawke a quick kiss, thanking him again softly before heading off to the bath. By the time he returned, Hawke had cleaned up their dinner, poured them both another drink and was poking at the comfortable fire emanating from the fireplace.

“How was your bath?” Hawke asked, wrapping his arms around Anders’ robed body. His skin was still flushed and damp from the water, hair slicked back and nearly dripping. He looked relaxed for the first time in weeks and needed no prodding to take a seat before the fire and accept the glass of wine Hawke placed in his hand. He moved behind his lover, gently massaging his shoulders as Anders let out a small groan of pleasure.

“I ah, had one more thing planned for tonight,” Hawke began nervously several minutes later. He moved around to stand in front of Anders, who merely raised an eyebrow.

“We can go to the bedroom, love…”

“Okay, two more things planned for tonight,” Hawke grinned. He glanced uncertainly towards the corner, where Anders noticed the lute for the first time that night.

“Are you going to serenade me?” he asked playfully, a pang of guilt hitting him when Hawke winced.

“Well, sort of?”

Anders sighed, standing. He took Hawke in his arms, planting a small kiss on his lips.

“Thank you for everything tonight,” he whispered, “I needed it. And I would love to hear you play.”

Hawke pulled back, glancing shyly at Anders before looking away. Anders couldn’t help the small smile that returned…he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Hawke nervous, let alone _shy_.

He sat back down, looking at Hawke expectantly.

“I…haven’t played for anyone in a while,” Hawke said as he picked up the instrument. “Not since we lived in Lothering.”

Anders slowly began putting the pieces together.

“For your family?”

Hawke nodded. “Mother and Bethany especially enjoyed it. But after Father died…”

He turned towards the fire briefly before moving towards Anders, new resolve on his face.

“But I think it’s time I make new memories.”


End file.
